


a coast that's unclear

by alexanger



Series: a hell of a feeling [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-17 23:41:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10604739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexanger/pseuds/alexanger
Summary: “So I’m not capable enough for a real plant?” he asks. “You need to get me the pointy little asshole instead?”“Have you met yourself? You’re a pointy little asshole. Match made in heaven, Jentleman,” Thomas says.





	

“There’s dirt in this,” James says.

“Yeah.” Thomas grins.

“There’s dirt,” James repeats. “And I have an autoimmune disorder. And you bring me dirt.”

“Okay, but the dirt is, like, the least interesting part of the thing. Name it.”

“I’m not naming a plant,” James says.

“Yes, you are,” says Thomas. “Look at it. It’s so cute. It wants to be your friend. Name the plant, Jeggings.”

“Thomas -”

“Name it,” Thomas insists. “Name him.”

James can’t help but laugh, and he realizes as he’s giggling that it’s the hardest he’s laughed in weeks.

“Fine,” he says. “I’m naming it Little Prick.”

“Was that so hard?” Thomas asks, and James gently touches the pointed end of one of the leaves on the little sempervivum and smiles.

“You know, when you said you’d get me a surprise, this isn’t really what I had in mind.”

“Yeah. It’s better than whatever you were thinking of. Taking care of stuff is good for you,” Thomas says. “So I got you, like, the easiest thing on the planet to take care of. You just ignore it and it’s fine. Water it, like, once, ever, in the entire time you own it. I googled succulent care and printed off a bunch of stuff for you. Did you know you can’t fertilize them? Burns the roots. Anyway, here’s some info.” He tosses a stack of papers onto the coffee table beside Little Prick. James reaches out to grab them.

“So I’m not capable enough for a real plant?” he asks. “You need to get me the pointy little asshole instead?”

“Have you met yourself?  _ You’re  _ a pointy little asshole. Match made in heaven, Jentleman,” Thomas says.

It makes no sense, but it feels good to hold the sempervivum in its little plastic pot. It feels good to take charge of something living. Succulents are tenacious - they cling ferociously to life and there’s something in that persistence that James envies. He wonders if Thomas did that on purpose. He wonders if Thomas  _ meant  _ to provoke some sense of competition, or if was entirely by accident. All he knows is that he has to be better at being alive than a plant is.

“We need to repot him,” James says, and just like that, just by giving this tiny chubby-leafed fucker a name and a pronoun, he suddenly feels fiercely protective of it. It’s not just a plant, it’s  _ his  _ plant.

“We need special soil,” Thomas says. “And a pot and stuff. Maybe some rocks for the bottom so it drains right.”

“So we should go get them,” says James.

Thomas laughs. “You’re telling me you want to go outside all of a sudden? After complaining every single time we need to go anywhere?”

James is already up and rummaging through his laundry basket for clean underwear. “Yeah,” he says. “Little Prick can’t stay in that tiny pot. He needs room to stretch his roots.”

“Good. You need to get some fresh air. How about I take you out for lunch after?”

“You’re always the one treating me,” James says. He pulls on the brand new pants Thomas bought for him and feels a twinge of guilt thinking about how much money has been spent on him already. “Let me get you for a change.”

As the words leave his mouth, he realizes that even dropping ten bucks on lunch means he won’t have the money to replace the rubber tips on his elbow crutches. The tips are already so worn that it’s getting dangerous to walk with them, and he  _ needs  _ them for any significant distance -

Thomas helps James into his hoodie and says, “you can get me next time. I offered first.”

Both of them know that it won’t happen next time either, but it helps avert the worst of the sinking shame and humiliation.

James hasn’t been outside for a few days. “Not since the doctor,” Thomas says, and James realizes he’s right - it’s so easy to just let the days pass in a haze of medication and lethargy, and before he realizes it he’s been in bed for a week.

Or, at least, that was how it used to be. Nowadays, Thomas keeps him to a strict schedule; they get up at 8 AM every morning, Thomas takes care of the meals, the two of them clean or do laundry or read together, and James doesn’t have any time to mope around and feel sorry for himself. Doing so much during the day is exhausting, but at least it gives him a sense of structure. And when it’s all too much and he needs to nap, he naps with his head in Thomas’s lap.

“Did you know there’s a garden centre like, two blocks away?” Thomas says. He has Little Prick in his hands and James keeps glancing over to make sure the plant is safe and sound. “That’s where I got this little guy. Can you walk that far?”

They’ve gotten maybe half a block from the front door of the building and James is already leaning hard on his crutches, but he grunts and says, “I can do it. My son deserves the best so I’ll tough it out for him.”

“Cool,” says Thomas, and leaves it at that. James feels his heart swell with love. It’s that distinct absence of pity, of woeful glances or condescension, that means more to him than anything.

They walk the rest of the way in silence. James follows Thomas’s lead, content just to walk beside his best friend out in the sunshine. There’s a slight breeze but inside Thomas’s hoodie, James is warm and cozy. He takes his time; with other people, he pushes himself to go faster, but Thomas never rushes him. He matches James’s pace without complaint.

“How big a pot do we need?” James asks as they approach the store. There are racks of pots and soil outside, and he gently nudges a bag with the tip of one crutch. “Also how many kinds of soil exist? Isn’t dirt just dirt?”

“Nah. You need special dirt,” Thomas says.

“I can steal dirt from the ground for free,” James complains.

“Just pick a pot, dude. Probably don’t need something huge, just enough for his roots to stretch.” Thomas cradles Little Prick against his body with one arm and picks up a purple ceramic pot with his free hand. “Thoughts?”

“Does everything have to be purple?” James asks.

Thomas looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “Yeah.”

“Okay, let’s get that one, then,” James says. “And some special fucking dirt.”

“And rocks,” Thomas reminds him.

“And rocks,” James agrees. “Again, stuff I can pick up from the ground for free.”

He tags along behind Thomas, who collects cactus soil and rocks, and then pretends to argue when Thomas pays.

“Let me get it,” James says, hoping TJ doesn’t accept the offer.

“Nah,” says Thomas.

“You already bought the plant for me -”

“So I need to take responsibility for it,” says Thomas. “Like child support.”

James just smiles.

If the walk there was hard, the walk back is harder. Thomas carries everything but the effort involved in ambulating is exhausting, and James finds himself out of breath and in pain after one block. Thomas seems to be struggling a little with finding something to say; finally, he settles for, “if it’s too difficult to go somewhere to eat, you can go upstairs and I’ll bring takeout home.”

“Nah,” says James. “I want to go.”

But he knows as he says it that he isn’t able to make it much further, and that going anywhere else will mean he can’t get home, so he allows Thomas to lead him back to the building and take him upstairs. He burns with fury and shame and his eyes sting with tears he refuses to shed.

“I’m pretty tired anyway,” Thomas says, and it’s a lie but  _ bless  _ him for the lie. “It’ll be nice to just eat here. What are you in the mood for?”

“Pad Thai,” says James.

“Nope. Peanuts, soy - though at least the noodles are gluten free. Pick something else.”

James pulls a face. “Sushi, then. Bring me a thousand avocado rolls.”

“Cool. I’ll go hunt something down. Will you be okay by yourself for a little bit?”

Thomas helps James into the apartment and dumps the pot and soil on the kitchen counter. James props his crutches beside the door, gathers up Little Prick, and goes to sulk on the sofa.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Back soon,” Thomas says.

When he goes, the apartment  _ should  _ feel empty - but James holds Little Prick close, ignoring the dirt that dusts his hands and his t-shirt, and he feels a little bit less alone.

 

* * *

 

Usually, it takes James forever to eat - he and Thomas are both slow eaters, albeit for very different reasons. Thomas finds tastes and textures overwhelming and needs to take his time so he can process them; James often feels sick after a couple of mouthfuls and needs to pause long enough for the nausea to fade. Today, however, he finds himself shovelling maki into his mouth as fast as his chopsticks can manage.

“What’s the rush?” Thomas asks, carefully picking all the seaweed out of his miso soup.

“Little Prick needs to stretch his roots,” James says.

“Okay, but if you want me to do it for you, then you need to wait for me, and I’m not eating until all the textures are safe -”

“I’m gonna do it,” says James. “You bought all the shit, the least I can do is repot him.”

“It’s dirt,” says Thomas.

“Yeah.”

“You’re gonna touch dirt.  _ You. _ Dirt comes within like three feet of you and you scream.”

“It’s my son,” says James. “I can take care of him.”

Thomas grins. “Man, I didn’t think you’d be so into the plant, Jackalope.”

“Plants are important. They make air.” James shoves aside the empty takeout containers and settles on his knees in front of the coffee table. He sizes up his tools, and then tears open the bags of soil and stones with his teeth.

“Rocks go in the bottom of the pot,” Thomas says. James carefully tips them in and arranges them in a layer before scooping handfuls of soil in on top. He checks every so often to see if the level is high enough. Once he’s got the base in, he stares at Little Prick in his plastic pot and frowns.

“How do I get him out?” he asks. “I don’t want to pull and hurt him -”

“Turn the pot on its side, I guess?” Thomas looks just as lost.

James tilts the pot and eases the plant out, and then packs it gently into the new container. His hands are caked with soil up to the wrists and he’s absolutely certain he’s gotten some on his face, but he doesn’t feel the creeping horror that usually comes with touching anything unsanitary. There’s something warm and soft laying heavy between his ribs. He feels content.

“He looks happy,” says Thomas, and James hums assent dreamily.

“Purple was a good choice,” James says. The soft green of the echeveria stands out from the royal purple ceramic. He touches the leaves gently, strokes along them, and then makes a delighted noise and says, “look! A tiny one!”

There’s a little offshoot just beneath the main body of the plant. Thomas leans in to look and grins.

“Yeah, apparently they do that. Pretty cool little plants,” he says. “It’ll probably keep making those little guys if you keep it happy.”

“I’m gonna make him so happy,” says James fiercely. “He’s gonna be the happiest plant alive.”

 

* * *

 

Life seems more bearable now that he has something to take care of. Every morning, James checks on Little Prick, sticking a finger into the soil to see how dry it is. The echeveria sits on his bedside table, next to the window. He leaves the blinds open so the tiny plant gets sun.

“You’re always more excited to say good morning to the plant than to me,” Thomas complains one morning. They’re lounging together in the living room, Thomas sipping a cup of coffee and James nursing a mug of green tea.

“Little Prick is way nicer than you are,” James shoots back.

“Wow. Ouch,” says Thomas. “If I’m a jerk then that gives me free rein to be mean to you. Get dressed, fuckstick.”

“No.” James sticks his tongue out. “Why do I have to put on clothes?”

“Therapy is today. Are you feeling up to it?”

James pouts at his tea and shrugs, swinging one leg idly. “I kind of have to be. They’re gonna charge if I don’t show up.”

“Yeah,” says Thomas. “But I can cover that if you don’t have the spoons to go.”

“I don’t want you spending any more money on me -”

“I can afford it. There’s nothing more important to be spending my money on.”

“What about your rent?” James asks. “Or, you know, the fact that you’re buying most of my food? Aren’t you still paying off your car?”

Thomas chews his lip. “Well - I mean. I’ve been here for a couple weeks, right? And you definitely still need me here. So I was thinking I’d sublet my place, maybe rent out my car with it … you know, at least until we get you back to a place where you’re solid.”

James has been dreading Thomas leaving, but guilt gnaws at him as he realizes just how much he’s uprooted his life. “What about your job?” he asks.

“I’ll quit,” Thomas says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“Thomas,” James says. He puts his face in his hands. “You’ve been working there for, like, three years. You can’t just  _ quit  _ because things kinda suck for me.”

“They don’t just  _ kinda  _ suck, Jerboa. You need me,” Thomas tells him.

“You’re going to end up hating me for ruining your life,” says James.

“Nope,” Thomas says.

“You’re going to resent me when you regret quitting.”

“Not gonna happen,” Thomas says.

“You’re going to go back to your life and it’ll all be fucked up and it’ll all be my fault, and you’ll hate what I did, you’ll hate me, you’ll never want to talk to me again -”

“Breathe,” says Thomas. “Can I touch you?”

James shudders and suddenly realizes that his throat feels tight and his eyes are welling with tears. He manages to force out something that sounds close enough to  _ mmhm _ and nods, and then Thomas’s hand is on his back, rubbing in slow circles.

“You can’t ruin my life,” he says. “You  _ are  _ my life.”

That’s when James breaks and cries.

“Too much?” Thomas asks, and there’s hesitation in voice. Maybe it’s more than hesitation; it almost sounds like real distress. “I know that was super intense, I’m sorry -”

James shakes his head.

“You’ve just, you know, you’ve been the most important person in my life as long as I can remember, and I don’t know what I’d do without you. So I’m going to do whatever I can to make sure you’re okay and you stay with me.”

James hums.

“I know it’s selfish. Like, I should want you to stick around so that you can enjoy your life, not just so I can keep you around - you being okay isn’t about me -”

“Helps,” says James. “I like knowing I’m important.”

“Okay. Yeah. Okay,” Thomas says.

“I still don’t want to ruin your life.”

“You aren’t ruining my life. I love you, Jemmy.”

James leans over until his head is resting against Thomas’s chest. “Love you too,” he manages. “Therapy today seems like a good idea. I probably really need it.”

Is that a kiss on the top of his head, or is he imagining it? “Proud of you,” Thomas says.

His chest still hurts and it’s still hard to breathe through the tears, but James’s heart glows.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos heal the pain in my hip that just started for no fucking reason. chat to me at [alexangery.tumblr.com](http://alexangery.tumblr.com)


End file.
